


It Isn’t a Prison Proposal, Just a Packet of Pretzels

by beezyland



Category: Orange is the New Black
Genre: 5+1, Chapel sex, Dirty Talk, Explicit Language, F/F, REALLY BAD "DIRTY TALK" (but it's Nicky Nichols so roll with it), Sexual Content, and there are pretzels, mostly for my own amusement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 20:49:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2124252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beezyland/pseuds/beezyland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Nicky wants to kiss Lorna's lips, but doesn't, and the one time Lorna surprises her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Isn’t a Prison Proposal, Just a Packet of Pretzels

**1.**

 

Nicky doesn’t expect to like her.

She rarely has an opinion at all when a new batch of orange filters in. Lorna Morello is pretty, sure, but this is an all-women correctional facility. There may not be a ton of pretty in prison, but enough easy and desperate and decent to keep Nicky Nichols busy. She’s rarely taken with newbies because the clueless tend to be a burden and she’s not up to being someone’s flotation device in the unforgiving sea that is prison life.

That’s why she fucking hates getting tossed into SHU. Everyone thinks the worst part is being in a windowless cell for days or months on end, no contact with the outside world and without the simple luxury of being able to tell if it’s even light or dark out. Nicky’s been alone with herself before, most of her life. The worst part of getting tossed into SHU is the after, when they’re still sorting through shit so you get stuck in a temporary bunk.

It’s just Nicky’s luck that she gets stuck in the same room as an orange who won’t shut up with her fucking sobbing and muttering to herself, curled up in the bunk above Mr. Clean plucking the hair on her nipples and Darth Vader’s machine pumping steadily from beneath where Nicky is perched. She has her radio cranked up high, but just being aware of everything happening around her is fucking annoying. She might not be able to do anything about DeMarco’s health issues or Rosa’s gross ass tit hair (and cancer), but she can… 

“Hey!” Nicky calls out hoarsely. “New girl!”

Lorna Morello turns, tears streaking down her porcelain cheeks, sniffling helplessly. Nicky reaches for her unopened bag of pretzels on the corner of her mattress and tosses it from her top bunk to the other. The newbie reaches for it, but then quickly retracts her hand as if afraid it’ll bite or worse, lead to something sinister, something her momma warned her about. 

Nicky rolls her eyes, mostly to hide her amusement. “It isn’t a prison proposal, just a packet of pretzels.” 

“I-I…no, no, but th-thank you.”

Morello grabs the pretzels and tosses it back to Nicky, but the girl was probably picked last in gym class because the pretzels land on the ground in the space between the two bunk beds. Lorna’s eyes widen like she just accidentally caused the next world war when Nicky shrugs, thinks it’s less than spilled milk. 

“Shit, sorry.” 

After wiping her face on her sleeves, Morello slowly climbs down her bunk and retrieves the pretzels. She’s careful with her eyes, sure to avoid DeMarco and Miss Rosa, even keeps her eyes downward as she tries to hand the pretzels back to Nicky. Instead of taking the pretzels like she probably should, Nicky gives Morello a slow look over. Yeah, she’s pretty, but there’s something else worthy of attention. Nicky’s eyes are like a gun, loaded, dangerous and aimed right at Morello, who shifts uncomfortable. It makes Nicky smile.

“How about we share it?” Nicky suggests. “No strings attached. No anxiety, no worry. I ain’t expecting anything in return except maybe for you stop with the waterworks, okay?” 

“Sorry.” 

“And while we’re at it, you can quit apologizing.” Nicky pats the empty space beside her on her temporary bed. “I don’t bite.” 

DeMarco cackles with laughter muffled by her breathing mask while Miss Rosa scoffs and turns over onto her side, facing the cinderblock wall. Nicky would probably snap and flip them off if she weren’t so surprised by meek little Morello scaling her bunk and sitting beside her. They sit side-by-side with their legs dangled over the edge as Morello opens the bag of pretzels.

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you on account of my ugly cryin’,” Morello says shamefully. Then catches herself. “Shit, I did it again! Sor—shit!” She presses her palm to her forehead, looking as if she’s waiting for the room to stop spinning. Nicky would feel bad if it wasn’t so goddamn adorable. “I’m a mess. Not even twenty-four hours in ‘ere and I’m already messin’ it all up.”

Nicky grins and snakes a hand into the bag, pulling out a handful of pretzels. “You get use to it. And, ay, if you fuck it up today, there’s always a tomorrow for the rest of your sentence.” Nicky nods and chomps loudly on a pretzel. “What’s your name again?”

“Morello.” The girl squares her shoulders, drops her voice a bit, puts an emphasis on the _Brooklyn_ in her accent, trying to appear tough. It’s as cute as a puppy wrestling a garden hose. “Lorna Morello.”

“Lorna Morello.” Nicky smirks, liking the movement of her tongue and the shape of her lips around the newbie’s name. She finds herself fixated on a tear track running down Morello’s cheek. Before she can stop herself, Nicky reaches out and gently wipes it away with her thumb. “Look at you, kid. I doubt you ugly cried a day in your life.”

It isn’t even like Nicky’s trying to be smooth or trying to work the girl. She’s just talking like she always talks. DeMarco and Rosa, who are probably eavesdropping—everyone’s always fucking eavesdropping—just assume Nicky Nichols is at it again, picking off the new and weak. That isn’t surprising. What’s surprising is the way Morello doesn’t flip out or scurry away like Nicky expects. She just stares at the pretzels in her lap and stuffs one into her mouth.  

“These pretzels are stale.”

“Yeah, well, beggars can’t be choosers and neither can prisoners.” Nicky thrusts her fingers through her hair and so, okay, maybe she’s starting to form an opinion of the girl and it mostly tastes like fascination and salty pretzels.

“So are you gonna tell me your name before you try to hit on me again?” 

Nicky’s shoulders literally jerk back as her mouth opens in a smile, impressed and a little excited by how Morello goes from mousy to snappy in seconds. Silence is another one of Nicky’s favorite weapons of mass discomfort. By how Morello fidgets with the noisy bag of pretzels, it’s an effective one. 

“Nicky Nichols. Take your best shot, but I assure you I’ve heard it all.”

Morello shakes her head and holds out the package. Nicky watches her carefully, taking another pretzel.

“And I wasn’t hitting on you.”

“ _Sure_.”

“I was merely trying to get you to quit crying and look! Success!” Nicky reasons. She places a pretzel between her teeth, but doesn’t bite through. Lorna nods rapidly though she doesn’t look like she believes that one bit. “Why? Would it be so shocking if I were hitting on you?”

Morello does this thing where her pretty brown eyes widen, looking baffled, but maybe a little curious and shit, the thought to kiss her passes through Nicky’s mind, but quickly disappears. Nicky holds back, crunches on the pretzel between her teeth, and decides the next few weeks are going to be a ton of fun.

 

  **2.**

 

Nicky doesn’t expect to like Lorna, but she’s starting to.

Like that, for instance, _Lorna_ not Morello. Other than to punctuate a flirty taunt because Nicky really does like the way the kid’s last name feels as it rolls off her tongue. And that’s as close as her tongue’s gotten to Lorna Morello even though she’s already traded in the orange for khaki, been assigned a bunk and made an honorary member of Red’s family.

Boo scoffs, says she’s losing that Nichols touch, but admittedly, Nicky hasn’t tried to touch. Her eyes and the shit that comes out of her mouth are another thing entirely, but Nicky is hesitant. She tries not to think about why messing things up with Lorna would be different from messing up with any other girl in any other block. When she’s with Lorna, it’s hard to focus on anything, but.

Especially when she’s eating because, man, can that girl eat.

Nicky loves Red and would die defending Red and her food, but it isn’t Michelin star quality, barely even up to health code. It’s kind of unspoken, but agreed upon that the food isn’t all that great, but only because of the shit Red’s given to work with. Well, you wouldn’t suspect any of that with how Lorna shovels food into her mouth at ever meal, no matter what it is. Really, it’s unlike anything Nicky’s ever seen before.

Lorna peels her peanut butter and jelly sandwich apart, tears off the crust, eats the peanut butter side first, then the jelly, then the crust. She tears her toaster waffle into two and shoves the left side ( _always the left side_ ) into her mouth first, always using her middle finger. It’s messy madness, but also methodical whether Lorna realizes it or not.

“Easy there, kid.” Nicky pushes the mug of tea (more like ¼ tea to ¾ sink water) closer toward her. “I’ve got this image in my head of O’Neil attempting to give you the Heimlich and it isn’t the sexiest mental image I’ve had of you.”

Nicky laughs to herself when a dirty little play on the word _Heimlich_ crosses her mind, but she gets distracted when Lorna starts talking with her mouth full. Nicky knows she should find it disgusting, uncivilized maybe, but she doesn’t. She shouldn’t find a complete lack of table manners so charming, fucking cute even, but she does. It’s a dangerous realization Nicky tries to push from her head. 

Lorna swallows the mouth of food, takes a sip of her tea and then a much-needed breath. 

“I can’t help it sometimes,” Lorna replies. Nicky smiles because at least she’s done apologizing for every little thing like when she first arrived. “You try growin’ up under one roof with three older siblings, their significant other of the week and all their little rugrats. Meals with the Morellos were like that scene outta _Seven Brides for Seven Brothers_ , y’know.”

Nicky doesn’t know, suspects it’s a musical reference, but doesn’t ask. She made the mistake of trying to make conversation about the one musical she sorta knows (was forced to attend a showing on Broadway with the momster, got high beforehand, of course, ended up thrown out of). Little did she know that Lorna’s love for _West Side Story_ is scary intense and led to an hour-long gush fest over the damn thing.

Lorna shrugs her shoulders, but her eyes are darker, harder than they were a moment ago. “We never had a lot of money, so whatever was on the table was all we had until the next meal, whenever that was. So the food here, it ain’t so bad.”

Nicky nods like she understands, but doesn’t. She doesn’t have siblings, but always had money. She remembers walking into fancy Manhattan restaurants like she owned them, ordering the priciest items on the menu, getting high in the bathroom and drinking overpriced bottles of champagne with her “friends” as the untouched food grew cold on the table. Nicky acts tough and denies her privileged upbringing. Just like everyone else, she puts on an act in order to keep safe.

“Here.” Nicky shoves her tray toward Lorna, a half-eaten toaster waffle left on the plate among discarded orange peels. Lorna just laughs and nudges Nicky with her shoulder. 

“I don’t need your prison food charity, Nichols.”

“Charity.” Nicky scoffs and nudges her back. “Fuck off. I’m just sick of eating the same shit all the time and I know you love it. Better in your mouth than the trash, huh?”

She puts a special emphasis on the word _mouth_ because it’s what Nicky Nichols does and Lorna meets her eyes for a long moment before taking the half-eaten waffle shoves it into her mouth. Nicky smirks, not because she counts this as a victory, but because watching Lorna eat never gets old and because a crumb gets caught on her lip.  

“What?” Lorna mutters incoherently. “There somethin’ on my face?”

Lorna motions to her face with her fork. It’s funny how she’s suddenly self-conscious over the tiny possibility, but isn’t concerned about her overall eating etiquette or lack thereof. It’s just _so_ Lorna.

“Yeah, here. Lemme get it.”

Nicky brushes her thumb across Lorna’s lips in a slow, deliberate fashion, all while looking into her eyes. Lorna holds her stare and swallows hard. Something about the way she looks right now suggests that _maybe_ if Nicky tried to kiss her, catch an imaginary crumb with her lips, that Lorna would let her, hell, even like it. Maybe Lorna would even part her lips and let Nicky find out what freezer burned waffles taste like from inside Morello’s mouth.

Then a tray of food loudly smacks against the table and both Nicky and Lorna jump. Yoga apologizes for startling them while Sister Jane gives them a look that reminds Nicky of all the times she got caught skipping class to make out with her lab partner at her all-girls private high school that was run by—you guessed it—nuns.

Boo and Mercy join the table soon after and bring an argument with them, probably over something stupid, and so the conversation moves along rather smoothly. As they walk to bus their trays together, Lorna mutters, “Hey Nichols, thanks for, y’know, earlier.”

“Glad to be of service, kid.”

Nicky smiles though she’d rather be servicing Lorna in a different way, a little more than eye fucking, and maybe the swipe of her thumb a lot lower.

 

  **3.**

 

Nicky likes teasing Lorna. And sometimes Lorna even plays along, holding her gaze for too long, giggling and slapping her arm, always in a friendly manner. Then there are other times that feel like they’re on the edge of uncharted territory, on the verge of something more.

“C’mon, Morello. Aren’t you curious?”

“Nichols, I already told you…”

“Yeah, yeah, the fiancé, but I don’t see him around here, huh? Three years is a long time…”

“I’m not a cheater and neither is Christopher.”

“But is it really cheating if it’s with a girl? C’mon. It’s more like Bring a Friend to Masturbation Day.”

Nicky really will try anything at this point, even using terms a seemingly naïve straight girl like Lorna Morello might find sense in, might even find persuasive. Nicky doesn’t like walking away thinking she didn’t do everything in her power to get laid. She pulls this kind of shit all the time, never expects Lorna to respond the way she hopes, but has her fingers crossed.

Her smirk is wicked even if Nicky was aiming for playful. She moves in closer and when Lorna doesn't back away, Nicky doesn't back down. Her eyes switch between Lorna's eyes that are opened wide, hinting at alarm tinted in curiosity and her lips that are as red as ever and slightly parted. Leaning in for a kiss isn’t a move out of Nicky’s usual playbook, but it isn’t every play she has Lorna Morello up against a wall. 

Before their lips touch, Lorna presses her tiny hands into Nicky's chest and gently pushes her back. Nicky Nichols is rarely rejected and that isn't cocky, it's fact. The shock of embarrassment and dread that runs through her from the ends of her hair to the tips of her toes is both unexpected and unwanted. What the fuck is she supposed to do with this now?

Nicky's about to pull away, maybe make a joke to help the awkward moment pass, but then Lorna's hands move to her shoulders and remain there, even curl a bit into the fabric of Nicky’s shirt. Their eyes meet again and Lorna doesn't appear panicked or disgusted, but determined and committed to whatever is happening between them.  

"Are you serious or just teasin’ me?" Lorna asks.

"As serious as a heart attack." Nicky shifts her weight, pressing the shorter girl into the wall behind her. "No strings. No messy bullshit. Get off and go. Nothing to feel guilty about, yeah?"

Lorna thinks it over, nearly gives Nicky an actual heart attack. Then she bobs her head up and down in one of her frantic little nods. "So, um, I don’t know how this...uh, to the chapel?" 

Nicky nods and so they're both nodding, giving their brains a second to digest what their eyes and mouths have just agreed on. One thing is clear, there's no going back. 

Another thing that's painfully clear to Nicky is that this isn't going to be some intimate encounter. Lorna doesn't want that. She made her intentions perfectly clear when she stopped Nicky from kissing her. Lorna just wants to be fucked, which shouldn't be surprising. Multiple women seek Nicky out for exactly that, sometimes multiple times a day and she gives them what they want just like how she's going to give Lorna what she wants. 

The real surprise is the feeling Nicky gets as they walk to the chapel together. It’s vaguely victorious, but with a twist of disappointed.

 

 **4.**   

 

Nicky likes sex and she _really_ likes having sex with Lorna. Nicky likes Lorna’s breasts, the weight of them in her palms, but most of all, Nicky likes _showing_ Lorna just how much she likes her tits.

As soon as they shut the chapel doors behind them, Nicky doesn’t waste a second getting Lorna out of her layered uniform. First the two shirts and the khaki pants and Lorna moans when Nicky mouths at her left nipple before she can even get her out of that bra. When Nicky adds a little teeth, Lorna screws her eyes shut, back tense and arched.

“You like that?” Nicky rasps.

Lorna doesn’t talk, just nods hard and digs her fingers into Nicky’s shoulders.

“Relax, Morello,” Nicky says soothingly, reaching around to remove that pesky bra with one easy, practiced move. As she tosses it aside, Nicky takes a moment to just look at Lorna, all that smooth, fair skin that would be flawless if not for the few, faint gallbladder scars on her abdomen. This kid is something else. Even her scars are adorable.

Nicky makes it a point to check Lorna’s reaction every few seconds, every step of the way. Ask anyone around Litchfield and they’ll all tell you that Nicky Nichols is a giver. Satisfying her partner gets her halfway there alone.

“I’m gonna make you feel good, yeah, make you so fucking wet.”

Lorna whines softly as Nicky yanks down her white prison-issued panties. The former junkie always seems to find herself caught between going slowly, soaking in every second with every one of her heightened, sober senses, and going fast and hard, seeing how loud Lorna can scream, how quickly the composed little bride-to-be unravels.

“You want me inside you?” Nicky’s mouth skim across the sensitive skin just beneath Lorna’s left breast, her lips ghosting over the tattoo on her side. Lorna answers by moving her fingers into Nicky’s thick hair, gently pushing her lower. “Yeah, baby, ‘m gonna make you come on my tongue.”

“Mhmm,” Lorna mutters, biting her lip and rolling her hips forward.

“I’m gonna—”

“Nichols, come _on_!”

Lorna flustered and frustrated and demanding it is one of the hottest things Nicky’s ever had the pleasure of witnessing. Fuck getting her own clothes off. Nicky smirks as she slips her hand between Lorna’s legs, eliciting a lovely little gasp. The encouraging sounds she makes has Nicky propelling forward, tracing that tattoo with the tip of her tongue before moving downward, pressing wet kisses down Lorna’s flat stomach and along those little scars. Nicky sets a steady pace while Lorna rakes her short nails down Nicky’s back beneath her wifebeater.

“You like that?” Nicky asks. “Yeah, you do don’t ya, you filthy skank? Want me to fuck you so deep, make you feel it for day. I’m gonna make you come so fucking hard. Bet you—”

Suddenly, she’s cut off by the sound of giggles from above her. When Nicky glances up, Lorna loses it, nearly falls over herself, unable to control her laughter. This reaction isn’t something Nicky’s use to and it makes her falter, her expression turning to one of confusion.

“Oh my god! I can't no more!” Lorna blurts out. She’s near tears, but not for the reason Nicky would expect or like. Lorna combs Nicky’s hair away from her eyes and gently cups her cheek. “All the talk a thing for you, Nichols?”

Nicky can’t seem to form words, goes motionless, but remains inside her and this whole thing is truly a first for Nicky. She doesn’t always talk, especially when there’s a heightened risk of getting caught. But, just like every other area of her life, Nicky has trouble controlling her mouth. No one’s ever said anything about it before. No one’s ever questioned her before and this is far from Nicky’s first time.

She honest to god (in the chapel, ha) doesn’t know what to do. It isn’t too late to stop, to pull away, for them to walk away from all this, wash it from the memory bank, but Nicky realizes she’s reached the mark where she doesn’t want to stop. She’s wanted this, _wanted Lorna_ for so long, and to stop now would absolutely ruin everything going forward.

“Do ya say all this stuff to all your girls?” Lorna inquires, gently stroking her thumb over Nicky’s cheek. “Is it part of the Nicky Nichols deluxe package?” Lorna giggles and Nicky tries to play it cool, shrug it off, even though she’s silently dying of humiliation. But then Lorna rolls her hips and it sparks something, brings her back. “Why’d ya stop?”

Nicky rolls her shoulders, trying to sink back into the moment, into what’s happening between them, deeper into Lorna.

“What happened to making me come on your tongue?” Lorna teases. And Nicky realizes there’s no malice or judgment in her voice. It’s playful. Her bright-eyed smile makes Nicky smirk and work her thumb in a way that makes Lorna squeeze her eyes shut and throw her head back. “C’mon, Nichols, gimme your best shot.”

Nicky laughs and licks her lips, taking the challenge to heart. Once she relaxes, there’s more laughter, but it’s easier and comfortable and never malicious. Breathy sighs and steady chants of, “fuck, fuck, Nichols,” build into high-pitch broken sounds and Nicky no longer feels embarrassed or disappointed.

She can’t remember having a sexual encounter quite like this, with laughter and ease and an actual connection. And maybe this works for them, seeing that they spend most of their time together goofing off and playing with their food and all the stolen touches throughout the day. Sex with Lorna Morello is hot and dirty, but also effortlessly fun. And maybe if things are this easy and this good, it means it won’t get too messy further down the line.

Hopefully.

(What a huge fucking mess that turns out to be.)

 

 5 **.**

 

Nicky likes Lorna, okay, a lot, but she fucking hates Boo giving her shit about it.

Boo, who’s a serial monogamist and wifed up the ying yang with Mercy (talk about an odd couple) and worst of all, enjoys it most of the time. Boo routinely finds her little thrills through weekly (sometimes daily) retellings of Nicky’s sex adventures, living vicariously and all that. In true Big Boo fashion, she makes everything about Big Boo.

"Quit it, man,” Nicky says. “I don't wanna get into this."

"Bullshit." Boo scoffs. "You're always wagging those two fingers in my face. I'm convinced you get off on the telling more than the fucking."

"This is different."

 _Lorna is different_ is what Nicky thinks, but fuck if she’s going to say it, especially to Boo of all inmates.

"Because you’re in love with her," Boo says in this downright childish voice that makes Nicky bristle even though it should be more embarrassing for Boo than her. “You surely haven’t been fucking anyone else since getting between those short little legs.”

“Is this really necessary?”

“Just spill already, Nichols!”

"No,” Nicky says, “because no one can keep their damn mouth shut around here and we don't need any of that getting back to Red."

At least, that’s the reason Nicky’s worked out in her head.

“Listen, son. Red knows. Everyone knows, including the senile and the strung-out.” Boo snorts, watching Nicky fiddle with the matryoshka she’s always swiping off the top of Red’s locker. “You can only disappear to the chapel together so many times. We’ve got a pool going, betting on how long it’ll take for you to verbally admit that Nicky Nichols has got herself a little prison housewife."

For a second it looks like Nicky is picturing what Boo would look like with the Russian nesting doll shoved down her throat, but she quickly recovers and continues to compile the layers.

"Like I said, I'm not gonna talk." 

Nicky isn’t about to go into how Lorna doesn’t want anyone to know even though it’s pretty fucking obvious with them doing it everywhere around the prison. She isn’t about to confront why it always brings her down whenever she thinks about it, whenever those red lips speak the fiancé’s fucking name, even if those same lips were leaving red marks on Nicky’s freckled skin just an hour prior.

"DANITA FUCKED UP MY HAIR!"

Lorna marches into the cube and Boo laughs so hard she can't breath, bent at the waist, with hands on her knees, practically wheezing. Nicky smirks, but tries to keep it to a minimum when she notices the tears falling freely down Lorna's reddened cheeks. 

“I told you to put your name on Burset’s waiting list and just stick it out like the rest of us,” Nicky says. It’s the last thing she wants to hear right now, evident by the way Lorna narrows her eyes, anguish turning to anger.

“Well, you are always comparing yourself to Rihanna,” Boo adds. “Now you’ve got the hair to match.”

When Boo reaches out to try to touch Lorna’s black, asymmetrical (crooked) hair, Lorna slaps her away with a loud _smack_!

“Someone’s a little touchy about the quaff,” Boo coos. “Well, at least you two have one thing in common now.”

Lorna lunges for Boo, ready to claw her eyes out, but Nicky rounds an arm around Lorna’s waist and keeps her firmly at her side. Boo paints on an intimidating sneer that quickly falls apart, replaced with more laughter when her eyes land on Lorna’s hair yet again.

“Now you look more T-Bird than Pink Lady.”

Nicky gives Boo a warning of a look, knowing she’s doing what Boo does best, being an asshole to purposely get Lorna all worked up, all for a laugh. It’s quickly become one of Boo’s favorite pastimes, especially with Lorna as her target. The little Italian has a surprisingly short fuse, something Boo has no problem exploiting for entertainment purposes.

“Eighty-six this shit, would ya, Boo?” Nicky snaps. “Get the fuck outta here, man.”

“Fine. I can tell when I’m not wanted.” Boo turns up her nose and slowly saunters to the exit, but stops to give them one last laugh from over her shoulder. “Have fun sixty-nine-ing the day away. You are eye-level with a whole other kind of hair when you’re going down on her, aren’t ya?”

Lorna grabs the matryoshka off of Nicky’s bed, poised to throw it at Boo, but Nicky manages to wrestle it away from her as Boo walks out, howling. Nicky sets the doll aside and pulls Lorna to sit on the bed with her. Her amused little smirk fades when she sees how truly upset Lorna is.

“Hey, so you’ve got yourself a case of the Donald Trumps. It happens to everyone! Unlike that douche, at least your hair’ll grow back.” Nicky shrugs her shoulders, but Lorna doesn’t look very convinced, refuses to meet her eyes.

“Easy for you to say!” Lorna cries. “F’it were you with hair that looks like a horse that ain’t about to win any beauty pageants you’d be kickin’ and screamin’ and getting hauled off to SHU!”

Nicky tilts her head from side to side, weighing the prediction and, yep, that’s probably accurate. At least, Nicky wouldn’t bet against her. She can admit that much about her vices.

“Yeah, well, you aren’t me,” Nicky points out. “You’re smarter than that. C’mon, Morello, as if a bad haircut could make you any less hot.”

Lorna shakes her head stubbornly and swipes at her wet cheeks with the back of her hands. Nicky gently brushes her fingertips through the dark strands of hair that fall across Lorna’s forehead, then through the insanely short side, right over her ear. She doesn’t get smacked away like Boo. If anything, Lorna leans into her touch and it gives Nicky that familiar thrill she’s yet to get sick of. As Nicky continues to let her fingers slowly explore, Lorna meets her eyes and attempts something of a smile.

“I bet you say that to all the girls you’re fucking.”

Nicky chuckles. She’s always amused by how Lorna can slip so easily from one mood to the next. One minute she’s in tears, the next she’s about to murder Boo and now she’s being rather sprightly. Nicky just presses her lips together and shakes her head slowly because no, she’s never taken the time to console a girl she’s already fucked and ever since that first time in the chapel, there haven’t been any other girls.

Though Nicky doesn’t say any of this in any direct way—the thought of talking about it is downright mortifying—she trusts Lorna knows. She can tell Lorna knows with the look in her eyes and the way her lips stretch in such a goddamn genuine smile. They’re on the same page and that coupled with the awesome fucking sex is enough to ignore all the wedding talk and the Christopher talk and all the shit talk Boo does.

“So I come in here lookin’ like I got road kill on top of my head and you give me an _I told you so_?”

Nicky ignores that, curls her arm around Lorna, pushing her fingers into that silky, albeit mangled hair. Lorna curls into her as they sit back against the wall her bed is pushed up against.

“You look great, kid,” Nicky says sincerely. “If anyone tells you otherwise, they’re just jealous they aren’t the one getting fucked by me.”

Lorna’s face scrunches in distaste, _that ain’t classy, Nichols_ in her doe eyes. Right when Nicky expects to hear just that, Lorna starts tickling her. A little unknown fact is that Nicky Nichols is actually pretty fucking ticklish and fucking _giggles_ in response to the attack. Nicky reacts quickly, launches a tickle attack of her own, making Lorna shriek and convulse with laughter.

Nicky can feel her cheeks start to ache with how hard she’s smiling as she leans over Lorna, pinning her to the mattress. When Lorna finally stops fighting beneath her, Nicky pushes her fingers through her wild hair and their eyes meet. Lorna’s fingers are curled into the front of Nicky’s shirt, and for once she isn’t pushing Nicky away or downward, but pulling her closer.  

“A-DORM! SWEEP TIME!”

Nicky jumps back and Lorna springs to her feet, mumbling about needing to save her lipstick. Nicky falls back against her bed with a frustrated little huff and watches her go. While all the other inmates scramble to stash their contraband, Nicky, who has nothing to hide, sits and mourns yet another missed opportunity, another impulse that fizzled out before it even occurred.

 

** +1 **

 

When it finally happens, it isn't something either of them makes a big fuss over. There's no planning ahead of time. It just sort of happens. 

They're sitting together out at one of the picnic tables under the pavilion, watching the others fool around on the basketball court. Like fucking everything else in this godforsaken place, the friendly game of basketball turns into a tribe verses tribe affair. Though the racial tension has turned down a whole lot with Vee gone, they're all so damn competitive. As the ball falls through the hoop, Poussey and Taystee celebrate in their typical loud, touchy fashion while Boo hounds Chang, the designated referee. 

Lorna declined the invitation to play because she isn't much of an athlete and getting sweaty means ruining her hair and makeup. Nicky also declined, saying she prefers not to have balls of any kind flying at her face. She's much more content watching from afar as Watson dribbles circles around Chapman, who's pouting about one thing or another and being ignored by everyone except Soso who’s chattering away, probably about the history of basketball or criticisms of the NBA, accusations of racism and all that.

It's a warm spring day and Lorna laughs almost as loud as she did during the WAC dance riot, watching Pennsatucky at the free throw line (that they scraped into the ground with a rock because the court lines faded years ago), seconds away from snapping or turning this whole game into yet another freestyle rap battle. It's nice to hear Lorna laugh, so freely and without a care. After that moment on the steps, Nicky's spent so much time worrying about Lorna. If anything, it makes moments like this that much sweeter.

"Nichols, look what I got." Lorna reaches into the pocket of her gray hoodie and pulls out a pack of pretzels. 

"You been holding out on me, Morello?"

"Just got it from the machine in visitation." Lorna tugs on each side of the package and rips it open. "I told Franny you'd be on an all vending machine diet if it weren’t for Red and Franny insisted so…" 

"You talk to your sister about me?"

Lorna seizes up and sits super straight, all of which Nicky can feel with how close they're sitting together, their thighs pressed against each other. Nicky smirks at her reaction and rounds her arm around Lorna's shoulders to let her know it's cool. 

"Oh, y'know, Franny’s just glad I’m not alone in here," Lorna says quietly. "Whether you wanna acknowledge it or not, you really helped me, Nick. Ever since I got tossed in here. I know I don't say thanks as much as I should..."

"Jesus Christ. Remember how long it took to get over the whole 'sorry' thing? You wanna start with the t-word? Fuck.” When Nicky reaches for the pretzels, Lorna pulls back at the last second, holding it out of her reach. “And now you wanna thank me by denying me stale, salty goodness?”

“Reflex, I swear.”

“Yeah, sure.”

When Nicky reaches for the pretzels again, a little tentatively this time, Lorna leans in and kisses her. A sweet, gentle kiss with the promise of more. Nicky almost seizes up herself, feeling Lorna’s lips on hers for the first time in all the years they’ve known each other. Lorna’s red stained lips are soft and seeking and the _want_ that’s always lurked at the back of Nicky’s head becomes a _need_ and she kisses her breathless. When a round of Boo-led catcalling erupts, Lorna giggles and it’s so reminiscent of the old days, but also so new and exciting.

Lorna leans away with the biggest smile on her face and flushed cheeks. Nicky takes in the sight of her, how genuinely happy she is, not lost in some fantasy haze in her head, but looking right at Nicky with eyes that have never been clearer. When the catcalling continues, Nicky flips off their audience, making the crowd collectively laugh before getting back to their game.

“That wasn’t like some charity mouth attack, was it?” Nicky asks, though she doesn’t know why. She doesn’t want to know, doesn’t even know why she’s talking right now. Damn mouth.

Lorna laughs and Nicky swears it’s a sound she’ll never get sick of.

“Nah,” Lorna replies. “I never had much so I’m very particular about what I give away.”

Nicky nods slowly. “Good to know.”

“You got a little somthin’ on your face, Nichols.” Lorna drags her thumb over Nicky’s lips, chasing away the red. “Y’know, other than that stupid smile.”

“Shut up,” Nicky says, but that damn smile on her damn face cannot be contained. Nicky brings her own hand to Lorna’s cheek and leans in as Lorna’s eyes drift closed, making nervous anticipation look like the most beautiful thing in the world.

Nicky kisses her, dragging her hand through Lorna’s softly curled hair, tugging gently and ignoring the crinkling sound of the prison proposal pack of pretzels smashed between them.  

**Author's Note:**

> AN: On a scale of terrible to terrible, how would you rate this? I hope you laughed or smiled because I laughed my face off writing #4. I'm pretty sure I've read better, actual smut by teenage virgins. You fucking go-getters you. Yeah, just tell me to stop and send me some dark prompts, lol.
> 
> Fun Fact: Inspired by a conversation I had with two guys who'll never read all of this and that fucking Jason Derulo song I loathe almost as much as the Wiggle song. Some people like the porno talk (Nicky sure does, watch the chapel scene again, it's canon), I do not, lol, but I'm sure if anyone can pull it off and make it hot, that person is Nicky Nichols.


End file.
